


the center of my universe (is in your arms)

by ilsafausts (phoenix_cry)



Category: Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Romance, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_cry/pseuds/ilsafausts
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Ilsa and Ethan depend on each other to take care of their wounds. Sometimes, however, it's not enough to just heal the body, because the heart needs to heal as well. For this part, they may need a little nudge from their friends.
Relationships: Ilsa Faust/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	the center of my universe (is in your arms)

More or less stumbling through the door to the safe house, bloody and bruised, Ethan had to admit that the mission could have gone better. 

Ilsa and he had been sent on a duo mission - “The whole team won’t be necessary for this, Hunt,” the secretary had said - only to find out the hard way that, yes, the whole team would have been necessary after all. 

They had managed to get away, barely, but the mission itself had been a bust. Thankfully, it hadn’t been one of those end-of-the-world type missions, but it did result in a massive amount of deadly weapons changing hands from one dangerous madman to an even more dangerous one. 

The door to the safe house groaned shut, just as a groan of pain left Ilsa’s lips as one of her wounds made itself known once more. “We really should reconsider these run-down, hidden -away-in-the-very-last-corner safe houses, you know,” she said offhandedly, tiredly leaning against the closest wall and letting her head gently thud against the surface. 

“Why is that?” Ethan asked conversationally, leaning against the wall next to her, mirroring her position. 

The old couch a couple of feet further into the room seemed too far away to reach at this very moment. 

Beside him, Ethan could feel Ilsa’s half-hearted shrug. “They just don’t make it very inviting to return to, is all,” she sighed and pushed off the wall, holding her hand out for him to take. “Especially if you’re in a state like this.” 

Ethan grunted in agreement and grasped her hand, marveling at her strength and energy, because he felt like he had none left at all. 

“Come on,” she said, pulling him over to the couch, “we better take a look at those wounds currently causing you to bleed through your clothes.” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snorted, giving her a once-over, lingering on her various bleeding cuts and scrapes, and what he thought was a stab wound. Ilsa just gave a non-committal noise and pushed him down onto the couch.

He gave in remarkably easily, he admitted to himself, but couldn’t really be bothered by it either. His eyes just tiredly tracked her form as she headed towards the small bathroom, noting a slight limp in her step. A minute later, she emerged with a first aid kit, a bowl of water, and a couple of towels. She set all of it carefully onto the cracked and chipped table beside the couch. Next, she dragged the table into a position that allowed her to reach it more comfortably, without having to twist each time she had to reach for it. 

“Off,” she ordered, her hand waving in the direction of his shirt once, before turning to soak one of the towels in the bowl of water. 

Ethan had to suppress a smile. “You know, if you want to see me half-naked, you could at least ask nicely,” he joked and laughed as her other hand swatted against his chest blindly. 

He caught her hand easily, holding onto it to escape further punishment. Astonishingly, she allowed it to remain in his gentle grasp. 

“If you keep holding my hand like that, you’ll have a much harder time taking off that shirt,” she teased, turning to give him a look, eyebrow raised. 

He grinned tiredly. “You’re really hell-bent on seeing me undress, aren’t you? Who would have thought.” 

“I could just go take a shower, lick my wounds and go to sleep, leaving you to fend for yourself, if you’d prefer,” she said, and made to get up, detangling her fingers from his, but his hand shot out with surprising speed, holding onto her forearm.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a pest. I’m sorry I’m being difficult, I know you’re as tired as I am.” He hesitated a second, giving her a slightly bashful look. “I...may have some trouble getting out of my shirt, however.” 

“Ah,” Ilsa hummed in understanding, and without further ado, gripped the collar of his t-shirt and ripped it open. 

Ethan didn’t flinch, but now it was his turn to give her a raised eyebrow. “I liked that shirt,” he said drily. 

“Honey, I hate to break it to you, but I doubt you could have gotten those bloodstains out. Never mind mending those tears.” 

Ethan hummed. “You might be right.” He then leaned back and let her go to work inspecting his wounds, trying hard to ignore how her fingers would occasionally brush over his skin.

Apparently, she had deemed the wound on his right upper arm, where a bullet had managed to graze him, the most urgent to take care of, because that’s where her attention resided for the next few minutes. 

The water was cool against his skin as she dabbed the towel against his wound, making him flinch occasionally. She would murmur a quick ‘Sorry’ before carrying on with her work, quickly and efficiently. 

Like she had done this a hundred times before. 

She probably had, Ethan guessed, the thought making him sad. 

She must have seen his brows furrow, and misinterpreted his reaction, because Ilsa asked, “We probably still have some painkillers lying around if you’d like me to fetch some for you?” 

Ethan shook his head and gave her a soft smile. “No, it’s quite alright. Thanks.” His chin jutted out, indicating her own scrapes and bruises. “Now hurry up, so I can take a look at you.” 

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “All I need is a shower and some rest.” 

“Ilsa, please don’t be obstinate now,” he chided gently. “You’re currently in the process of bleeding through your shirt.” 

Ilsa glanced down at the spot he had indicated, her brow furrowing in annoyance. She pressed a hand down onto the bleeding gash in her right side, before thinking better of it and pulling up her shirt instead.

She shortly inspected the gash in her abdomen, before she looked at her shirt for a second. “Thank goodness I’m not overly attached to this shirt,” she said with a sigh, then proceeded to pull it up over her head without further comment, letting it drop to the floor. 

Ethan swallowed hard at coming face to face with her only clad in a bra, so very unexpectedly, his brain having had no time to prepare at all. He forced his eyes to focus on a random spot over her shoulder. 

A few minutes later, she was apparently done with treating the wounds on his torso. She leaned back and gave him another critical look. “Anything else I need to take care of?” 

Ethan bit his tongue to keep his mouth from uttering the traitorous, decidedly dirty thoughts speeding through his brain right now. “Nope,” he managed. “All good. Thanks.” 

Ilsa gave him a suspicious look, but let it go. “Let me go get fresh water, then you can take a look at this cut you’re making such a fuss about.” 

Ethan glowered at her. “Cut, my ass,” he mumbled while tugging at her hand for her to stay put. “Sit. It’s my turn.” 

“If you insist,” she said, sinking back down into the old cushions. It was a testament to how exhausted she was that she didn’t put up a fight at all. 

Ethan carefully got up, ignoring the stinging pain from his various wounds, and grabbed the water bowl and dirty towels. Getting rid of the stained towels, he cleaned the bowl, got fresh water, and returned to the couch a few minutes later. 

He found Ilsa half-asleep, her head leaning back against the couch, eyes closed. She almost looked relaxed, if it weren't for the slightest furrow in her brow and the blood standing out starkly against her skin. 

“Hey,” he murmured, alerting her to his presence. 

A slight smile appeared on her lips in acknowledgment, but her eyes remained closed. “Hey yourself,” she mumbled. “Don’t mind me, just do what you have to do.” 

Having her permission to take care of her wounds, he gently got to work, concentrating on her stab wound first. Inspecting her abdomen more closely, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she had been correct - it  _ was _ just a cut, albeit a pretty deep one. 

He carefully cleaned the wound, as gently as possible, before turning back to the first aid kit. 

“This needs stitches,” he informed her quietly, to which she just nodded. 

“Figured it would,” she murmured, but still didn’t move. Ilsa’s furrowed brow was still the only indication that she was in discomfort, and once again, he marveled at her strength. 

His fingers were gentle, yet efficient, as he set to work, thankfully done after no more than four stitches. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finished, and felt Ilsa breathe more deeply as well.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he said, “I still need to check your back.” 

Ilsa hummed, her eyes finally opening. The cut above her eyebrow made her squint slightly, the blood already caked and crusted. 

Ethan reached for the towel and dunked one corner back into the water before he leaned over and softly grasped her chin. Her face turned towards him willingly, eyes watchful, never leaving his face. 

He scooted a little bit closer still, before dabbing the towel gently over her cut. A drop of water escaped the confines of the cloth and trailed down her temple, Ethan's eyes following its track involuntarily. His hand followed a second later, the towel once again soaking it back up. 

When his eyes refocused back on her's, he noticed that her own gaze had dropped towards his mouth. He became aware that his teeth were currently biting down on his bottom lip slightly in concentration, and the action seemed to have captured her attention. Involuntarily, his teeth were replaced by his tongue, wetting his lips.

Ilsa swallowed. 

His own hand, which was still holding the towel pressed against her brow, began to tremble slightly and he quickly dropped it into his lap as soon as he noticed. 

Clearing his throat, he made more room for her on the couch and motioned for her to turn around. “Let me check your back,” he said, his voice still way too gravely for his own liking. 

Ilsa breathed deeply, nodded once, and then moved to turn her back to him. 

There were several bruises already forming on her shoulder blades, from where she had hit the ground hard not two hours ago, as well as some superficial scratches here and there. 

Thankfully, Ethan thought, nothing too serious. He quickly dabbed some ointment onto the scratches, before focusing on the bruises. He carefully pressed on them, asking, “Does this hurt more than it should?” 

Ilsa snorted, but shook her head no. “It’s fine. Nothing is broken or cracked. I can tell.” 

“Okay,” Ethan said, trusting her judgment, and breathing a sigh of relief. His hands came to gently rest on her shoulders and a moment later, she leaned back against him. 

He took the unexpected opportunity to enjoy her closeness. Ilsa sighed deeply, his hands moving up and down with the movement. 

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this tired,” she mumbled, and he could tell that she was crashing hard. 

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “It’s alright. Just go to sleep.” His right hand was stroking random patterns up and down her arm, while the left almost blindly reached for the blanket he knew was draped over the back of the couch. He pulled it down and spread it over her as best he could. Ethan then leaned back against the cushions and drew her down with him, keeping her securely wrapped in his arms. Ilsa mumbled something unintelligible, wiggled slightly against his chest to get more comfortable, and was asleep a moment later.

Ethan tried to stay awake a while longer, simply enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms like this, which certainly didn’t happen often, but the more he tried to stay awake, the faster he could feel himself slipping away into Morpheus's arms. 

Not two minutes later, he was asleep as well. 

Xoxox 

When he woke again, it was early morning; the sun barely visible over the horizon yet, but still managing to illuminate the old safe house with warm, orange light. 

Distantly, Ethan was aware of the painful throbbing in several parts of his body. What his mind decided to focus on, however, was the warm body resting against his own, for which he was very grateful. 

To his surprise, Ilsa was already awake and stirred against him, as soon as she realized he was awake as well. 

“Good morning,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I hope I didn’t keep you awake. Or made you uncomfortable.” 

“Good morning." Ethan pressed a smile against the crown of her head. "Don’t worry, you didn’t. I think I fell asleep about two seconds after you did.” 

“Good,” she whispered and made no move to extract herself out of his embrace, surprising him once more in the span of a minute. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as terrible as I anticipated,” he answered. “You?” 

“Ditto,” she yawned, turning her face into his chest. He still had a good view of her nose scrunching up adorably and his heart thudded almost painfully in his chest at the sight. 

He was sure she could feel it against her cheek. 

He was loath to disturb their peaceful moment, but his stomach chose that very instance to rumble loudly in the still morning, reminding him that they didn’t eat any dinner the night before, too tired from their ordeal. 

Ilsa chuckled against his chest. “So. Breakfast?” Her mischievous eyes peeked up at him and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

They detangled themselves and slowly got up, accompanied by quiet groans, as strained and bruised muscles protested. 

Getting freshened up and dressed in some clean clothes, the two of them soon had a small, but nourishing breakfast set up. 

They ate quickly, but their cell phones still rang before they had finished their meal. 

Their interlude was over.

It was time to go back to work. 

Xoxoxo 

“Damn, you guys look like shit,” Benji greeted them, as soon as they had stepped through the door of yet another safe house, in yet another city, on yet another continent. 

Ethan just gave him a tired look, before heading off to one of the small bedrooms adjacent to the main room, taking his duffle bag with him. 

“Thanks, Benji,” Ilsa sighed, not even managing to put any snark into her words, too exhausted to do anything but sink down onto the nearest chair and let her own duffle bag drop to the floor by her feet. 

A twinge in her side made her glance down at her wound, just in time to see a thin strip of blood beginning to seep through her shirt. She groaned and cursed under her breath, but was too tired to move and do anything about it. 

“Uh, Ilsa?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Thanks, Benji,” she repeated. 

“Okay. Yeah. You’re welcome.” He threw a lost look at Luther and Brandt, which amused Ilsa slightly, but really, all she wanted to do was sleep. 

Ethan chose this moment to reenter the room. 

He took one look at her, shook his head knowingly, and headed over towards the chair she had elected as her pit stop. 

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” he announced and gently scooped her into his arms. 

“I can walk, you know,” she said, but her head had already settled itself comfortably against his shoulder and her eyes were beginning to droop shut. 

“I know,” he assured her, never stopping on his way to the couch, which actually looked comfortable for once. 

Gently depositing her onto the soft cushions, he then repeated the process from a day and a half ago - getting a bowl of water, the first aid kit, and some fresh towels. 

Once more, he returned to the couch to find her half-asleep, and he had to chuckle softly. 

“‘S not funny,” she mumbled sleepily, once again allowing him to pull up her shirt and inspect her wound. 

“It kind of is,” he disagreed, before continuing. “You pulled some of the stitches. I’ll have to re-do them.” 

“Mhh,” she hummed, nodding for him to continue. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the other guys clustering around the couch. 

“Need any help?” Brandt asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Ilsa. 

Ethan shook his head and gave his friends a smile. “I’ve got it, thanks, guys.” 

Brandt nodded, before pointing towards the kitchen. “We ordered pizza if you want any.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, before returning his attention to the woman currently drifting off to sleep while he stitched her back together.

_ Amazing _ , he thought, before quickly finishing the last knot, and carefully covering her wound with a fresh bandage. 

He was about to get up to grab a blanket for her, when Luther appeared at his elbow, offering him one as if he had read his mind. 

He gave his oldest friend a thankful smile, before taking the blanket and spreading it out over Ilsa’s sleeping form, tucking her in. Without really thinking about it, he leaned over and dropped a chaste kiss onto her forehead. 

A moment later, he joined his teammates in the kitchen, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box.

Benji put an opened bottle of cold beer in front of him and he gave his friend a grateful nod. 

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” Brandt asked quietly after Ethan had eaten half of the pizza in his hand and downed a couple of swallows of his drink. 

Ethan glanced in his direction, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Tell her what?” 

“Come on, man, don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” 

“Brandt, you’ll have to spit it out. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Brandt shrugged and apparently decided to play along. “That you’re in love with her, Ethan. If it hadn’t been painfully obvious before now, it certainly would have been obvious after watching you the last fifteen minutes.” 

Ethan was quiet for a long moment, until he eventually sighed deeply, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to her.” 

“How so?” Luther asked. 

Ethan huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m an old, burned-out spy, with way too many scars. What would she want with me?” 

“Ethan, generally speaking, I don’t claim to understand women, or be an expert on relationships, but the way Ilsa looks at you, the way you two communicate without even trying, the way you care for each other and always seek each other out...I’d say she at least returns some of those feelings. But more than my opinion, which doesn’t really matter, you should take  _ her _ word for it. Just ask her, man! Talk to her, before deciding what’s good for her and what isn’t. The only one who can decide that for Ilsa is herself. And if she wants you back, then you better not run from her, because you both deserve to be happy, damn it!” 

Ethan just stared at his friend, wide-eyed and speechless, never having expected such an outburst from him. By the looks on Luther and Benji’s faces, they were equally as surprised. “I...honestly don’t know what to say,” Ethan admitted, before giving his friend a mischievous smile. “Never pegged you as a romantic, Brandt.” 

Brandt just glared at him. “Shut up, Ethan.” 

They all laughed quietly, clinking their bottles of beer together, in a show of easy comradery.

Much later, when the sun had long since descended over the horizon and the stars were sparkling with all their might, Ethan, despite his tiredness, couldn’t sleep. 

He had dragged a chair towards one of the windows, put his feet up on the window sill, and was watching the sky and the skyline of the city in the distance. 

Brandt’s words were still playing on a loop in his head, not allowing him to get any rest. 

Was Brandt right? Well, Ethan admitted to himself with a self-deprecating smirk, he was certainly right about one thing: he was in love with Ilsa Faust. Had been in love with her from the moment he’d seen her fight for the first time; had seen her resolve, her strength, her compassion. 

But was he also right about her feelings for him? Now that was the big mystery, wasn’t it? Once again, Ethan smiled humorlessly. 

Brandt had correctly analyzed that they were usually on the same page about anything else - then why couldn’t he answer this one question for himself? 

He sighed quietly in frustration and rubbed a tired hand over his face. He should just stop pondering this line of thought altogether. It was no use. He was no good for her, and that was that. 

Ethan sighed again, which almost made him miss her nearly silent movement behind him.

“Hey,” she whispered, as she came to stand beside him, leaning against the wall by the window to face him. 

“Hey,” he whispered back, pulled from his thoughts by her sudden appearance. “Did I wake you?” 

She gave him a slight smile as she answered. “I could sense your frustration all the way to the couch.” 

He huffed and glanced up at her, chagrined. “I’m sorry. Waking you up was the last thing I wanted.” 

Ilsa shrugged and rubbed her elbow absentmindedly. “Don’t worry about it. I think I’ve slept quite enough for now.” She tilted her head slightly and gave him a long look. “What’s keeping you awake?” 

He got the sneaking suspicion that she already knew. 

“Just a lot on my mind,” he admitted but waved it off as if it was nothing. “Nothing to worry about, though.” 

“You can talk to me, Ethan, you know that, right?” 

He gave her a warm smile, his heart skipping a beat at the look in her eyes. “I know.” This was his chance, his mind screamed at him, but still he hesitated. 

_ “Talk to her, before deciding what’s good for her and what isn’t. The only one who can decide that for Ilsa is herself.” _ Brandt’s voice was back in his head, pushing him to finally speak up.

He licked his lips nervously and swallowed. Here goes nothing. 

“Ilsa,” he started, pulling his feet off the window sill in order to lean forward. His elbows came to rest on his knees, and his hands clasped together. 

He resisted the urge to knead them nervously. 

“What is it?” She asked quietly, encouraging him to go on. She moved forward, closer to him, sitting down in the space his feet had just vacated. 

He finally dared to meet her gaze. 

“I’ve recently been told in no uncertain terms that I have been painfully obvious in regard to certain feelings I may be having.” 

His eyes scanned her face for a reaction, but for once, she gave nothing away. “For you.” 

Still nothing. 

“I just...wanted to apologize in case I made you uncomfortable, or made you feel like you had to reciprocate in any way.” Now that he had started talking, it seemed his mouth was unable to stop. “I assure you, that wasn’t my intention at all. Still isn’t my intention. If, for any reason at all, you feel uncomfortable in my presence, I’ll do my utmost to-“ 

Her fingers against his lips were thankfully there to stop the flow of words currently spewing forth from his mouth. 

He hadn’t even noticed her move. 

Surprised, he found her kneeling before him, one hand on his knee to keep her balance. “If I remove my hand, will you stop talking and let me get a word in?” 

He nodded. 

Her fingers left his mouth, as promised. “First off, I have a confession to make.” 

He blinked at her, waiting for her to go on. 

“I heard you and the guys talk, earlier.” 

He suppressed a groan of despair and embarrassment, all the while mentally cursing Brandt, knowing exactly which ‘earlier’ she meant. 

Her hand gently cradling his cheek pulled him out of his homicidal thoughts. “And it made me realize that we have both been cowards and fools.”

His mouth opened in surprise, but he remained silent. Ilsa’s fingers had absentmindedly begun to play with the short hairs at his temple and he tried hard not to get distracted by it. 

“Because,” she quietly went on, “apparently we’ve both been in love with each other for who knows how long, and been too obstinate to say anything.” 

Ethan started to speak, but Ilsa gave him a look that had him fall silent once more. “Then again, you’re the biggest idiot out of the two of us, Ethan Hunt!” She accused and he wanted to protest, but still, she wasn’t finished. 

“ _ What would she want with me?” _ Ilsa said, throwing his own words back at him. “Really, Ethan? Do you think so little of me? Of yourself?” She gave him an affronted look, on her own account, or his, he wasn’t sure. 

“You’re amazing, Ethan. You’re the most selfless, brave, kind person I know. What made you think that you were unworthy of my love? You’re age?” She scoffed. “Please. Who the fuck cares. Your scars?” She scoffed again, her hand leaving his cheek in order to wave at herself vaguely. “You’ve stitched me up twice in the last thirty-six hours, you’ve seen my scars, old and new. I’d be a bloody big hypocrite if your scars would bother me, don’t you think?” She raised her eyebrow at him, finally giving him the permission to speak. 

“You’re right. I’m a fucking idiot.” His own hand came up to gently cup her cheek, his fingers tangling in her loose hair. “Would you mind terribly if this idiot would stop denying his feelings now and kiss you?” 

Ilsa laughed softly, shook her head, grasped the back of his head, and met him halfway. 

Somehow, she ended up on his lap, her hands in his hair and around his shoulders, his hands on her neck and around her waist, and her tongue in his mouth. 

Not that he was complaining. 

And judging by the soft noises she was making in the back of her throat, neither was she. 

Come morning, the guys would find them on the couch, cuddled together, sleeping peacefully, the blanket and each other’s arms keeping them warm. 

They would still be fully clothed, yet more intimate than ever before; their hearts finally in sync, like their minds had been for so long. 

~fin

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As usual, thank you so much for reading! I'd appreciate it so, so much, if you'd take the time to also leave a quick comment - they feed me ;)
> 
> Also, I'm still taking prompts: if there's anything you've always wanted to read, I may try my hand at writing it. Thanks :D


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